Blood of My Blood
by Matrix Refugee
Summary: Alternate Universe: Sequel to "Flesh of My Flesh" When Vincent/Jerome returns from Titan, he hardly expects what he finds
1. Discovery

+J.M.J.+  
  
Blood of My Blood  
  
By "Matrix Refugee"  
  
Author's Note:  
Someone recently wrote me a phenomenal review of the prequel to this, "Flesh of My Flesh", which jogged my imagination and got me thinking seriously about the promised sequel, which this is. Vincent/Jerome's POV: it takes place three years after the film and nine months after the last chapter of "Flesh of My Flesh". Imagine his reaction when he comes back from Titan and finds...well for those of you who haven't read "Flesh of My Flesh", perhaps you'd better read that one first, otherwise you won't get a bloody word of this.  
  
Disclaimer:  
I do not own the movie _Gattaca_, its characters, concepts (including jargon), or other indicia which are the property of Sony Pictures, Andrew Niccol, et al.  
  
  
  
  
In Memory of the crew of the space shuttle _Columbia_. February 1, 2003  
  
  
"They say every atom in our bodies was once part of a star. I don't see it as leaving. I see it as going home." Vincent Freeman  
  
  
  
Chapter I: Discovery  
  
  
  
Luck has hardly been on my side. But somehow I lucked out. This time.  
  
  
  
I don't know how it happened, how no one found out all the time I was up there. But I'd taken my chance and fate had dealt me a good hand for a change. Life usually doesn't do that for someone like me, so I decided to make myself scarce as soon as I got back to earth. I didn't have a game plan yet, but I let that ride until we landed.  
  
  
We hit some turbulence on the re-entry, on account of a solar flare affecting the earth's atmosphere. We almost didn't make it: as the navigator, I had to make some last minute adjustments. It wouldn't have fazed me if we hadn't made it; but I had the rest of the crew to think about. But sure enough, we touched down on the landing strip behind the Gattaca Aeornautics Institute, three years and one month after our departure.  
  
  
I'd had my dream come true: I'd walked on alien soil. I'd gazed at the vastness of space without the barrier of the atmosphere to blur the light. My life was complete. If we had crashed, I would have died happy, not because I wanted that, but because I wasn't sure if I could face what lay in wait for me back on earth. I knew I couldn't keep up the charade once I was back there. And what about Eugene? Would the "lifetime supply" he'd set up last me in case I had to keep wearing the mask of his identity? Where was he now?  
  
  
He'd been lower than usual (if that was possible!) for a while before I left, but the morning of my departure, he'd seemed relieved. I'd thought it was because he was relieved to get me off his back, but I had discussed it--as a theory--with a psychologist on board the space station _Discovery_. She'd said it sounded like a potential suicide pattern. And that swatch of his hair he'd given to me before I left. That could only be a wordless suicide note.  
  
  
I had a brief moment's terror when the physicain on the crew ran blood tests to determine we hadn't picked up any mutated germs before we disembarked. But there'd be no scanning my genome; there's only Valids upstairs, right? No need for scrutiny now.  
  
  
We disembarked fifteen minutes later. As we filed out, down the connecting corridor between the air lock and the institute, I had to keep from shoving ahead of the rest of the crew. I wanted to put as much distance between myself and Gattaca as I possibly could as soon as I could. I'd been in such a hurry to leave the earth behind. Now suddenly I was in a hurry to get back to the life I'd left behind.  
  
  
A million fears had crowded into my head. Had they found out? Had Anton arrested Eugene? Had Irene divulged what she knew? And what about Lamar, the medical assistant? He knew everything; how long had it taken him to figure out what I really was? My father had said there were two classes it was impossible to keep the truth from: investigators and doctors.  
  
  
I breathed deeply to keep from panting, drawing in slow draughts of Earth air, as we filed along the corridor.   
  
  
"Smell that," said one of my crewmembers, behind me. "You're not the only one takin' big breaths: that's earth air you're breathing."  
  
  
"Yeah, it hasn't gone through a dozen filters and nine other pairs of lungs," I joked, hiding my fear behind deadpan humor.  
  
  
"Oh, God, I didn't think of that. What a relief!"  
  
  
I hardly heard this remark. 'Lamar, are you still here?' I hoped, deep in my heart.  
  
  
As if in reply to my question, as the corridor turned a corner, I looked down the last stretch to see Lamar standing there at the end, his white lab coat and his plain, dark, regular guy self a welcome sight.  
  
  
"Hey, Jerome! Y' got back in one piece and you brought everyone else with you," he said, holding out his hand to me as I came up to him.  
  
  
I shrugged one shoulder as I shook his hand. "My folks raised me to be the best that I could."  
  
  
"They raised you well, then," he said, but I detected a note of incredulity in his voice. He clapped me on the shoulder. In a lower voice, he said, "Go up to my office: I'll meet you in the hallway outside it in a few minutes."  
  
  
Something was up. I could only comply. I thought of slipping out somehow, but security was tight to say the least. Then I started wishing that somehow I had smuggled one of Eugene's blood samples with me, but that would only have ensured my getting caught.  
  
  
A few minutes after I reached the door of Lamar's office, he joined me in the corridor outside as promised. He put a hand on my shoulder and leaned in closer, conspiratorially. "I couldn't say a word of this in front of the others," he said. "I don't know how to put this, but there's a guy in my office who doesn't look ANYTHING like you, but he's got the exact same genotype, so unless this is your clone or your long-lost twin brother..."  
  
  
"Excuse me?" I asked, trying to sound incredulous. But I knew from the way his small, dark eyes narrowed, he wasn't convinced.  
  
  
"In that case," he opened the door. I hesitated, but I followed him in dutifully.  
  
  
I walked in to find a tall, slim young man seated in a chair beside the desk. Dark hair, narrow, symmetrical face, green-grey-blue eyes.  
  
  
It had been so long I barely recognized him at first. Jerome Eugene Morrow.  
  
  
The faint scowl between his brows had smoothed out and the cynical curl had left his mouth, but something of the gentle cynic remained about him.   
  
  
But then he leaned forward in his chair and, hardly bracing his hands on the arms of the chair, he stood up.  
  
  
For a moment the world spun backwards on its axis. I knew it had been a long time, but the kind of injuries Eugene had endured didn't just fix themselves. What was going on?  
  
  
"Don't look suprised: I told you I was faking it the whole time." He said this in a cold deadpan as only he could, but a gleam in his eye undercut it.  
  
  
"Eugene...what on earth?...How...?" I stuttered.  
  
  
"The wonders of modern medicine," he said. "A few adult-derived stem cells differentiated into spinal neurons, implanted into the gash in my spinal cord and voila." He spread his arms slightly, then held out his hands to me, palm up. I clasped his hands in mine, but my fingers flet numb. I released him quickly.  
  
  
"I hate to break up the happy reunion, but would you mind telling me what's going on?" Lamar cut in.  
  
  
Eugene's eyes met mine. The words stuck in my throat. I looked at Lamar.  
  
  
He nodded knowingly. "I thought as much. "I've heard of InValids doing some screwy things to buck the system, and I know there's ladder-selling rings that have been broken up recently, but this beats it all. I don't know whether to call the cops or look the other way."  
  
  
"Do the right thing," Eugene said, speaking up. "Look the other way."  
  
  
"I'm of a mind to do that, just because I don't want to go on living with the knowledge I squelched a decent guy," Lamar said. "The $64,000 question is getting the second Jerome Eugene Morrow out of here without the bells and whistles going off." He looked at me. "For my own personal knowledge, what's your real name?"  
  
  
The moment had come. "It's Vincent Anton Freeman."  
  
  
Lamar lifted his head. "As in Eyelash Boy, whom we thought killed Director Keaton?"  
  
  
I wanted to bend my head in shame, but I refused to give in. "Yes."  
  
  
"Don't you have a service exit he could go out?" Eugene asked.  
  
  
"Yeah, but it's gonna look a little odd," Lamar said. He paused. "All right." He looked at me. "You know the way out: you used to work janitor detail here, didn't you a while back?"  
  
  
"Yes," I admitted.  
  
  
"Guess you really started at the bottom here," he said, with a smirk, but I could see respect in his eyes. "Now get goin' before I change m' mind."  
  
  
"I'll collect your bag and meet you outside, on the street," Eugene said. "I might be a little while: I have to get my wife out of detention."  
  
  
"Your...wife?" I asked. I knew three years was a long time, but Eugene hadn't even had a strady girlfriend when I shared his living space. No woman in her right mind could stand him for more than an hour, and even then, only if she was paid.  
  
  
"You'll see," he said, dropping me a slow wink.  
  
  
We parted. If I still practised the Catholic faith i'd been baptized in, I'd put Lamar up as a candidate for canonization. I headed for the basement, to a service entrance I hadn't used in almost seven years, but I still knew the place the back of my hand: I'd cleaned it enough times.  
  
  
Sure enough, the door was locked. I summoned up all my anger at the way I'd ever been kicked around for having a broken ladder and kicked the door open. I hoped I broke the lock in the process.  
  
  
I stepped out into the early summer sunlight and crossed the back lot of the complex, heading for the main road.  
  
  
A grey sedan pulled up alongside me. The passenger side window rolled down and Eugene, in the driver's seat, leaned over, opening the door.  
  
  
"Get in," he ordered. I climbed in next to him, pulling the door shut as he pulled away from the curb, heading for the city.  
  
  
A slender, shapely woman with red-brown hair, clad in a knee-length violet tunic over matching trousers leaned between the front seats, peering at me with violet blue eyes, her face bearing an sphynx-like but gentle expression, as if she didn't quite belong to this world.  
  
  
"And speaking of my wife, this young lady is she, Minerva Koestelbaum," Eugene said, glancing at her.  
  
  
"Minerva Koestelbaum-Morrow," she corrected, almost apologizing. To me, she extended her hand as she added, "You must be the famous Vincent Freeman I've heard Jerome tell about."  
  
  
"Or the infamous," I said, taking her hand.  
  
  
"I've wanted to meet you for a very long time," she said with a warm smile, "Ever since Jerome first told me about you."  
  
  
"Mm, telling her what a pain in the arse you were," Eugene cut in.  
  
  
"Thanks," I said, pretending to be irritated. Eugene certainly hadn't lost his edge.  
  
  
"So how did a nice girl like you ever end up with this even bigger pain in the ass?" I said.  
  
  
She glanced at Eugene. "You want to tell him?"  
  
  
Eugene drew in a long breath. "It's a long story, but I'll be as brief as possible: I tried to suicide, my second attempt, but the Hoovers came to call to find out what was up, and they caught me in the act. It's a wonder you didn't have another welcoming party today, besides me.  
  
  
"My father told me he was cutting me off from my allowance unless I got my sorry self in counselling. So my physician referred me to Minerva. She helped me pull myself together emotionally. More than that, she helped me find the donor cells to heal my spinal injury...And, as they say, one thing led to another: and we married a year and a half ago."  
  
  
"But wait, Eugene. What did you mean back there when you said you had to get your wife out of detention?" I asked.  
  
  
Eugene peered into the rearview at Minerva. She smiled at him.  
  
  
"I'm a genetic InValid, and unfortunately, I tripped the alarm," she admitted.  
  
  
"But, if you're an InValid, how could you be a practising psychologist?" I asked.  
  
  
"I'm legally a Valid," she said.  
  
  
"How is that possible?" I asked. If I had known about this sooner, I might not be in the mess I was in now, with this weight hanging over my head.  
  
  
"You have to know the right lawyers who can find the loopholes in the law," she said. "My dad was a police captain, so he knew a lot of the right people."  
  
  
"I bet she could fix you up with them," Eugene said.  
  
  
"I suppose I'll need it soon," I said.  
  
  
They went on, filling me in on the time I'd lost: the apartment I'd shared with Eugene had burned and he had had to move into Minerva's house. They'd married a couple months after that, after Eugene's father had disowned him for sharing living space with an InValid, and they had been married for well over a year now.  
  
  
"But I thought Valids can't marry InValids?" I asked.  
  
  
"Shh, don't let the license bureau know, but we're married in the Church though we're not legally married," Eugene said in a mock whisper.  
  
  
"But in seven years, they'll consider us a common law couple," Minerva said.  
  
  
They also had an infant son waiting for them at home with a friend of the family. "I didn't want to risk him there," Minerva said. "The institute might have shanghaied him."  
  
  
"What makes you say that?" I asked.  
  
  
"He's a Valid," Minerva explained. "We never had him Validated, neither of us wanted that, but for some reason, he was born Valid. And yes, that's medically hardly possible."  
  
  
At length, we pulled up before a New England salt-box type frame house set incongrously among the rest of the more modern-looking houses. As Eugene helped Minerva out of the car, I couldn't help noticing the gallant way he led her to the front door of the house.  
  
  
The door opened and a pleasantly plump woman about Minerva's age stepped out, holding a small baby with dark hair, who wimpered slightly.  
  
  
"Oh, did you miss us, Vinzel?" Minerva asked, taking the child as the woman handed him to her. "Did he give you any trouble, Cheryl?"  
  
  
"No, not at all: he slept most of the time," Cheryl said. "He's a good little fella." She looked up at me. "So this is the other Jerome?"  
  
  
"Yes, this is my infamous alter ego, body double...evil twin, whatever you want to call him," Eugene said, clapping a hand on my shoulder.  
  
  
"Thanks a lot," I groused.  
  
  
While Minerva chatted with Cheryl, Eugene led me upstairs to the guest room. I gathered Minerva must be Catholic: a picture of the Sacred Heart had hung on one wall of the entryway and I found a middle-size crucifix hanging on the wall as we went upstairs.  
  
  
"Just to let you know, since you have a notorious penchant for borrowing my things," Eugene said, opening the window to let the room air out, "this happens to be the room I slept in before I married Minerva."  
  
  
"Nice place you got here," I said, setting my suitcase on the bed. The furniture was simple but not ploddingly utilitarian. "You've done well with her."  
  
  
"I have you to thank for that," Eugene said.  
  
  
"But it muat have cost you when the Hoovers caught up with you," I said.  
  
  
"I paid the fine, but your dream was worth it," he replied.  
  
  
  
  
The stress of landing and adjusting to the earth left me exhausted. I rested for most of the day. One sign that I was still too accustomed to half-grav or free-fall: as I dozed off, I expected my arms to float up slightly even though I kept them folded against my chest. But I must have fallen fast asleep: next thing I knew, Eugene stood over me, shaking me awake.  
  
  
"Are you just going to lie there?" he asked. "Minerva has supper waiting."  
  
  
"Guess gravity got the better of me," I said, sitting up slowly, half expecting to float up slightly.  
  
  
"Now remember you're back on earth again," he said, chiding me as he led me downstairs.  
  
  
The meal conisted of an Israeli style salad with what I had through was grilled chicken, but which turned out to be tofu, but I was thankful for anything that hadn't started out as algae or something just as awful grown in a vat.   
  
  
"Is this the first meal you;ve been able to sit down to eat in three years?" Minerva asked me.  
  
  
"Yes, and it's also the first in three years that doesn't have a barrage of packaging to maneuver before you can take the first mouthful," I added.  
  
  
"You look like you thrived up there," Eugene said.  
  
  
I smiled. "I did better than the rest of the crew: just about everyone else kept getting space-sickness, but I didn't: I had to exercise more to keep from putting on weight."  
  
  
"Didn't that twig anyone?" Eugene asked.  
  
  
"No, they figured that since I was, in their minds, a ten on the Mendelian scale, I was stronger and more likely to adjust to the new environment," I said.  
  
  
"Plus you were raised in the school of hard knocks. You weren't treated like a hothouse flower," Minerva said.  
  
  
Eugene glared sideways at his wife. "Are you trying to imply something?" he asked.  
  
  
Minerva smiled calmly, but from the way Eugene suddenly jolted, I knew she'd kicked him under the table.  
  
  
"And now she's testing my tactile nerves," he said, mock-offended.  
  
  
"That must have been strange, adjusting to your cure," I said, finding a way to change the subject.  
  
  
"It came on gradually: most of the adjusting related to the physical therapy I underwent," Eugene said. "We can thank Minerva for that: she donated her own stem cells."  
  
  
"Can that be done?" I asked. I'd heard tell that Valids could not receive organ or tissue donations from InValids and vice-versa.  
  
  
"I have connections. The doctor who worked on Eugene is himself an InValid, so he's not prejudiced," Minerva said. With emphasis, she added, "But most, alas, aren't like him."  
  
  
"Wow," I said, putting those dark thoughts aside as best as I could. "No wonder you love each other so much. You're flesh of one flesh."  
  
  
Minerva blushed, Eugene beamed.  
  
  
Vinzel, in his baby hammock on a chair beside Minerva's, let out a whimper, preparatory to crying. Minerva set down her fork on her plate and turned to him. "Everyone else is eating, so you have to?" she cooed, opening a panel in her tunic, making some other discreet adjustment and putting him to nurse.  
  
  
"Here, keep your eyes in your head," Eugene twitted.  
  
  
"I'm sorry," I said.  
  
  
"It's all right: I'm covered," Minerva said. "It's the best thing a woman can do for her baby: a breast-fed InValid is just as smart and healthy as a bottle-fed Valid."  
  
  
"Is that so?" I asked.  
  
  
"I've been doing research on the emotional impact of Validation; I just had a paper published in the Journal of American Medicine," she said, utterly without pride, but with clear pleasure at being able to spread the word.  
  
  
"She used me as one of the subjects," Eugene said, with the pride she lacked.  
  
  
"That must have appealed to your vanity," I said.  
  
  
"Alas no," he admitted. "She aired out quite a few dark places in my soul, but I wanted her to be honest."  
  
  
"Don't ask me why, but I keep wanting to call you Jacob," Minerva said to me with an odd, intent but distant look in her eye.  
  
  
"I borrowed the name Jerome, but I suppose they're similar," I said.  
  
  
"It's more than that: it's the way my mind works." she said. "Some people think I'm raving when I come out with these...explications of their name."  
  
  
"I'd like to hear it, unless it's too wild," I said.  
  
  
"Let her rave: she's usually on to something when she starts chattering," Eugene said.  
  
  
Minerva glared at her spouse, then looked at me. "Do you really want me to bore you with it?"  
  
  
"I'd like to hear it."  
  
  
She laid her fork across the front of her plate. Her eyelids lowered thoughtfully. "Vincent Freeman...Your soul is invincible despite the odds you've faced; and you are truly a free man: you are a man in full because you have not let your enemies quench your heart, and your heart and soul fly free despite the constraints man tried to foist on you." She paused. "Your journey to freedom brought you all the way to the moon Titan, a satelite of the planet Saturn. In the Jewish Kabbala, Titan is associated with Jacob, the second son, the supplanter, the bringer of the new order, and yet the dispossessed one, he who took on the identity of Esau, the elder son, the favored one, the inheritor of the legacy, who sold that birthright for a mess of lentils--"  
  
  
"No wonder I detest them, yicchh!" Eugene cut in.  
  
  
"Shh!" Minerva replied, annoyed yet her lips betraying a smile. She resumed the thread of her discourse. "And to claim his father's blessing, Jacob, at the prompting of his mother Rebekah-- associated with Rhea, who concealed her youngest son, Zeus, from his father Cronos, or Saturn, which planet is associated with Isaac--dressed Jacob in his brother's garments and covered his hands and neck with the skins of a kid-goat so the blind Iassac would think the smooth Jacob was the hairy Esau."  
  
  
She raised her eyes to mine, looking at me like an oracle or an ancient priestess. "You are the inheritor, but you shared the inheritance."  
  
  
"He lent me his body, I lent him my dreams," I said, recalling something Eugene had said to me just before I left.  
  
  
I helped them clear the table, then I went out into the backyard for a breath of air while the two of them washed the dishes: I'd gladly offered to help, but Minerva insisted that I save my strength.  
  
  
Eugene came out onto the back porch after a while. He lifted an up-ended flower pot in one corner of the deck and took a packet of cigarettes and a lighter out from under it. He caught me watching him.  
  
  
"You don't see me doing this," he said, lighting up one. "Technically I've quit, but I sneak one once in a while."  
  
  
"I couldn't help noticing you cleaned up," I said.  
  
  
"I don't need the vodka any more," he said. "I'm besotted with her in the best possible way...and I'm in training once again: Your fulfilling your dream inspired me to restart my own dreams."  
  
  
"I guess I was good for something."  
  
  
"You were good for a lot of things," he said, the smoke trickling from his lips. "I doubt I could have opened up to Minerva the way I did if I hadn't met you first. I owe what I am now to you, and I want to return the favor."  
  
  
"You've done enough for me," I said.  
  
  
"Indulge me: I've found that helping people gives me a better jag than any amount of liquor."  
  
  
"I don't want to be any more trouble to you."  
  
  
He looked me in the eye. "All right, now that you've fulfilled your dream of going into space, of reaching for the stars, what are youn going to do now that you're back on earth?"  
  
  
His words only reminded me all the more tellingly that I hadn't provided much for my future with my heels back on terrestrial ground.  
  
  
"And that's where Minerva can help you the most," he said. "If she could haul me out of my self-pity, she can help you."  
  
  
"I don't want to trouble her," I argued.  
  
  
"She'd loved to be troubled by you." He took a last long pull on the cigarette and blew the smoke out in a cloud as he dropped the stub on the ground at his feet and kicked a clod of soil over it. "She's quite taken with you."  
  
  
"Nah, she's only got eyes for you," I said.  
  
  
"Not that way. I know here well. But mind you: if I catch your hands where they shouldn't be. I'll see that you never do that again."  
  
  
"Don't worry: I haven't forgotten about Irene."  
  
  
"You think she waited for you?"  
  
  
I had to be honest. "I don't know. I hope she has,"  
  
  
"Was she your only one?"  
  
  
I nodded. Anton had always caught the attention of any girl near us. If he was around, the girls never noticed me.  
  
  
"Don't envy me: Minerva married me because she loved me. She has no interest in my genome. There's someone like her out there for you. I'm sure Nerve and I could help you find her."  
  
  
"Nerve? you call your wife 'Nerve'?"  
  
  
"Of course: because of the kind of cells she donated to heal me and because it takes a lot of nerve for her to be married to a piker like me."  
  
  
I tried to chuckle, but my voice caught in my throat. "If Irene won't have me, I might have to take up your offer. Irene knows what I am."  
  
  
"In that case, if she's going to treat you like that, then she isn't the one."  
  
  
I stuttered some kind of non-reply and went in, ostensibly to get a glass of water. I heard Eugene come in and head for the sun room which abutted the stair case. Something compelled me to follow him.  
  
  
The sun had set, leaving the sky awash with reds and orange and violet, the first real sunset I had seen in three years. Titan's chemical clouds in the atmosphere blocked all but traces of that light.  
  
  
Minerva lay on a glider before the French windows, holding Vinzel in her arms. Eugene stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, looking at her.  
  
  
"She's a remarkable woman," I said. "I can't say it enough: you've done well."  
  
  
"We've all done well," he said, gazing admiringly on his wife, as she sat there with their son at her breast, the neck of her tunic open. Granted, her brassiere was plain, built to accomdate what she was doing, but I couldn't help looking at her. I dimly remembered seeing my mother nurse Anton, but I don't remember her doing the same for me. Bottles of formula, I vaguely remember those, but I have better memories of her draping a shawl over herself as she took Anton close to her heart. Only the best for him...  
  
  
"Hey!" Minerva cried. She turned her back to us, glaring over her shoulder at me.  
  
  
I dropped my gaze. "Sorry."  
  
  
"That's better."  
  
  
  
Later still, as I came from the bathroom and headed upstairs to my room, I could hardly help overhearing the voices coming from the back bedroom.  
  
  
"My turn at you now," Eugene's voice purred, sultry.  
  
  
"Ouch!" Minerva's voice squeaked, giggling, a strange sound coming from her, she was so rational. "Careful there, your lordship, they're a little tender."  
  
  
"I'll be careful...So, do you like him?"  
  
  
"Who, Vincent?........Mmmm........He's a good person."  
  
  
"Would you rather have him instead? We're not legally married, by the laws of the powers that be..."  
  
  
"Oh, stop that!...No, not _that_......I meant: he's just your brother, as far as I'm concerned."  
  
  
"The only brother I'll ever have......The only brother I'd ever want to have......Ummmm, no wonder Vinzel likes this stuff."  
  
  
"Regressing to the infantile stage?"  
  
  
"I never left it."  
  
  
I shook my head, possibly to clear the moisture collecting in the corners of my eyes (drat the pollen in the atmosphere!), and continued upstairs. Eugene wasn't even my blood brother, but I'd never heard Anton say this about me.  
  
  
  
  
To be continued... 


	2. Offspring

+J.M.J.+  
  
  
  
Blood of My Blood  
  
  
  
By "Matrix Refugee"  
  
  
  
Author's Note:   
  
Sorry for the delay, but I had to wrack my brain over how to keep this going. It's a lot harder to write than I thought, harder than the story which proceeds it, which basically plotted out whole. This one is a much more rocky story than its predecessor. (Might help if I watched the movie again, when I can scrape together the money for the rental.)  
  
UPDATED: 7.11.2003  
  
  
  
Disclaimer:  
  
See Chapter One  
  
Chapter II : Offspring  
  
  
  
  
  
So far so good...but I knew the going wouldn't stay as smooth as it had...  
  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
  
I slept restlessly that night. My internal clock was all messed up, still on space time.  
  
  
  
I woke with the dawn, pulled on my bathrobe (which Jerome had got out of storage in the attic), and went down to wash up. Almost unconsciously, I scrubbed myself down before showering. I had to laugh at myself when I caught my mind tail-spinning, wondering how to collect the shed cells on the bathroom floor, to destroy them.   
  
  
  
When I came out, I heard someone moving in the sun room. I peered in to find Eugene on the floor, doing push-ups, boot camp style, but hardly even prespiring  
  
  
  
At length, he sat up, one leg folded under him, the other drawn up. "Here, you don't have to be up this early: you don't have to get yourself prepped," he said. He turned over on his back. "Would you hold my feet down while I do my sit ups?"  
  
I obliged him. "I couldn't sleep," I said. "I'm used to days that last twenty four earth hours and nights that last just as long."  
  
  
  
"God, that would drive me mad!" he said. "But you came back sane."  
  
  
  
"I certainly hope I am," I said, looking at him. "Unless I'm hallucinating seeing you walking."  
  
  
  
"Oh, get going!" Eugene snapped, pausing, sitting up, and looking around for something to throw at me.  
  
  
  
"So, how are you keeping busy these days?" I asked, changing the subject.  
  
  
  
He resumed his exercise. "Like I said, I'm in training again for the up-coming Olympics at Sarajevo, two years from now," he said. "And, irony of ironies, I'm also helping train the next generation of rivals."  
  
  
  
"Good for you: You could use the competition."  
  
"Ha. Ha. Ha." he replied, in a flat mock laugh. "So, in that case, what are your plans for the day?"  
  
  
  
"Mostly just getting used to having my feet back on solid ground."  
  
  
  
"Finding Irene?" he asked, almost insinuating.  
  
  
  
"Maybe. But it probably won't be easy," I said.  
  
  
  
"Be careful: You may be a wanted man for that stunt you -- we, rather -- pulled off. Don't think you can go on pretending to be me: The safest place for you right now might be at the YPCA, where I'm working. They don't allow genomism there. They even overlooked my selling you my ladder. The program director even commended me for what I did."  
  
  
  
That was new. "You're kidding me."  
  
  
  
"I'm being thoroughly honest with you."  
  
  
  
"Guess in that case, I'd better tag along with you for the day."  
  
  
  
I heard Minerva moving about in the back bedroom, talking to someone, doubtlessly to Vinzel. Eugene sat up, sliding his feet out from under my hands, and cocked an ear toward the sound.  
  
  
  
"She's great with him," I said.  
  
  
  
He looked at me. "She's a very caring woman. People think of Aspies, people with her condition, as being emotionally distant, but she's hardly guilty of that. She let me into her life almost before I let her into mine."  
  
  
  
"And since then, you can't keep your hands off each other," I said.  
  
  
  
He reached for a cushion on the glider and hurled it at me. I dodged it.  
  
"That's for watching us!" he snapped, but I detected a note of pride in his tone.  
  
  
  
"You'd have to be blind not to notice," I called over my shoulder and I darted for my room before he could find something else to lob at me.  
  
  
  
"That doesn't give you the right to look!" he retorted, having to have the last word.  
  
  
  
* * * * *   
  
  
  
After breakfast, Minerva dropped us off at the Y. I was rather surprised she brought their son along with her, but there again, the little one was still nursing.  
  
"They let her do that, bring your son along?" I asked as we went in.  
  
"She likes having him close to her," he said. "She's told me her clients say he has a calming presence about him."  
  
At least she wasn't packing him off to day care. I'm told no place would take me when I was small, on account of my potential health conditions. No caregiver wanted to be held liable if something happened.  
  
Eugene had swimming classes to teach that morning, so I spent much of that time roving the halls, exploring. I met up with quite a few young kids who knew Eugene. I introduced myself to them as his friend Vincent. A few seemed to know who, or maybe rather what I was, but they didn't let on about that.  
  
  
  
About noon, Eugene had his own practise, so I headed for the pool.  
  
I found him sitting perched on the side of the pool, clad in an old-fashioned dark blue suit, tank top built into shorts, talking with a massive, girzzled ox of a man in his early sixties.  
  
  
  
"Hey, Jerome, this yer other self?" the big man asked, looking over Eugene's shoulder, right at me.  
  
  
  
Eugene looked at me. "Yes, this is the infamous Vincent Freeman," he said,, quickly introducing me to the larger man, his trainer Mallory Whittaker, better known as just "Whit".  
  
  
  
"So yer the one who helped this runt get his spirit up off its a--," Whit said, shaking my hand and gripping hard it in his huge one, but I could tell from the look in his amber eyes this truck driver handshake was just a front.  
  
  
  
I shrugged, suddenly bashful. "I never intended that, I'm afraid," I admitted. "I just borrowed his identity."  
  
  
  
"Guess you gave him an unexpected fringe benefit," Whit said, grinning.  
  
I only smiled in reply to that. "You mind if I watch?" I asked.  
  
  
  
"Just don't make your presence known," Eugene warned, getting into position on the edge of the pool. "I'll lose my concentration."  
  
  
  
"Lay off on 'um, Jerome: he looks quiet enough," Whit rumbled.  
  
  
  
Eugene started off with about twenty minutes of practise strokes. After that, Whit put him through his paces. Eugene cut through the water like a dark flash, like a barracuda speeding through the water, swift but agile, grace coupled with his incredible speed. But he was built for it: lean and lightly muscled, almost more like a dancer than an athlete.  
  
After about forty minutes of that, Eugene paused for a breather. During this interim, Whit looked me up and down almost like a horse trainer appraising a stallion. "Jerome tells me yer a good swimmer yerself."  
  
I shrugged one shoulder. "I'm good enough," I said.  
  
  
  
"I'd like t' see you in action," Whit said. He glanced at Eugene. "Better still: try puttin' this SLACKER through his paces."  
  
  
  
That might have its share of consequences, and I didn't want him held liable. "Oh no, I'm good for an InValid, but I'm not that good. I'm nothing next to an Olympian."  
  
  
  
Eugene glared at me. "I won only a silver medal."  
  
  
  
"You're still worlds better than I am," I said.  
  
  
  
The glare deepened, but I sensed he was raring to challenge me. "That was seven years ago, and I was paralyzed for half that time."  
  
  
  
"You got the heart of an ox: I've been in free-fall for three years." I caught myself: I looked up at Whit.  
  
The big man only grinned reassuringly. "Hey, it's okay, fella. Jerome's tol' me the whole story. Real lucky of you: th' way Gattaca runs that dump, they deserved having someone sneak in under the radar, put their high-falutin' genetically pure noses waaay outta joint."  
  
"Okay, I'm game," I said.  
  
  
  
I stripped to my shorts. Eugene eyed me with mock suspicion as I got into place beside him.  
  
"On yer mark...set...GO!" Whit roared.  
  
As one, Eugene and I dove into the water.  
  
  
  
I swam as I'd never swum before, not when Anton and I had challenged each other as kids, not even when I challenged Anton to that midnight swim in the lagoon, shortly before I left earth. Eugene and I kept alongside each other. We reached the far end of the pool; I touched the ledge just a split second after him, turned and sped back, still very close.  
  
  
  
I pushed myself, keeping nothing back, harder even than when I challenged Anton.  
  
  
  
For a moment, I edged ahead of Eugene. Over the surrussuss of water splashing and rippling around us, I heard him let out a snarl of disgust. He pushed himself harder, closing the gap, passing me.  
  
  
  
On the second lap back, my breath started to come short and my heart hammered in my chest, threatening to burst through my ribs. At my side, Eugene still showed no signs of tiring, but I was utterly spent.  
  
Eugene touched the wall two whole seconds before I did. With a final effort, I pulled myself out onto the ledge, panting, my breath whistling in my lungs, my blood screaming in my ears.  
  
  
  
"Y' almost killed him, Eugene!" Whit called, handing me a towel. To me he added, "Y'got th' stuff for it, y' just gotta train up."  
  
  
  
I glanced at Eugene as he turned around, swam back, and climbed out next to me. "Care...for a challenger?" I panted, my breath starting to come more easily.  
  
"You got that dicky heart," Eugene said. "Besides, I have enough competition, don't need any more -- especially you."  
  
"Aw, come on: the rivalry might be fun," I said.  
  
Whit patted my shoulder in a fatherly way, something I barely remember my own father ever doing. "Nah, Vincent-boy: yer good, buty y' can't risk yerself against him."   
  
* * * * *   
  
Later, once we got home, I limped up to my room and crashed on the bed. I'd hardly pushed myself like that in three years: every muscle in my body ached, but I felt great.  
  
After a few minutes, someone knocked at the door. I stirred myself out of the light doze I'd slid into and got up to answer it.  
  
Minerva stood at my door, her violet eyes grave, but her gaze not meeting mine. "We have to talk," she said.  
  
  
  
I stepped out into the hallway. She looked around, almost like a deer keeping an eye out for predators, as if she feared we might be overheard.  
  
"I'm destroying, never mind violating doctor-client privileges, but it would kill me if I didn't tell you," she said.  
  
  
  
I tried to meet her eyes, but she kept them downcast. "Tell me what?" I asked.  
  
  
  
She licked her lips as if to cool them. "Do you know a girl named Irene Cassini?"  
  
  
  
"Yes, I dated her briefly back when I was completeing my training at Gattaca."  
  
  
  
A weighty pause, as if she were trying to find the right words. "She's been coming to me for counselling for the past month or so, but she called me today, very distraught. I can't tell you all the particulars... how involved were you with her?"  
  
  
  
"We were involved enough that I spent the night with her," I said.   
  
  
  
She let out a long breath. "In that case, you're most likely the father of her child," she said.  
  
  
  
Her child. Irene's child. How could that be? We'd taken all the precautions necessary to avoid that occurrance, but nothing short of abstainence is ever fool proof.  
  
  
  
"What brought this up?" I asked.  
  
  
  
"Just hearing that the Titan mission had returned was enough to bring back all her feelings for you: guilt, fear, shame--"  
  
  
  
"We did nothing wrong, except in the eyes of the genomists," I said, blurting it out. "It's not like we'd get arrested for racial impurity, is it?"  
  
  
  
"No, but it still carries its weight of emotional baggage and social rejection. It's going to get harder for the both of you."  
  
  
  
I dug my fingers into my hair, trying to collect my scattering thoughts, emotions. "Why should that be so? Most prostitutes these days are InValids, so why should it matter who she slept with?"  
  
  
  
She took my outburst calmly, something I caught myself envying her for. "I wish it could be different, but that's the way it falls out. It's easier for people to overlook a Valid man sleeping with an InValid woman. To everyone who doesn't know any better, I might as well be Jerome's mistress. But it's a whole other matter when a Valid woman takes an Invalid man for her lover. It's like the wealthy upper-upper class woman fooling around with the low-rent construction worker. You'd think it would make no difference these days, but it does: the old 'girls are good/boys are bad' myth."  
  
  
  
"So therefore the Valid girls have to be angels and how dare they fall hard for some low-life by default InValid male? Goddammit, she was only a Valid second class; she's not the same calibre as Eugene."  
  
  
  
Her eyes met mine then, but the gaze was professionally detached. "Moral considerations aside, I wish it didn't have to be that way."  
  
  
  
I managed to pull my wits together and lower my voice. "Tell me this: does Irene still...want me?" My mouth had gone dry.  
  
  
  
She wagged her head. "I can't tell you that: I don't know."  
  
"Tell her this for me the next time she has a session with you: Tell her...I want her back, I want to meet my child."  
  
  
  
Minerva put her hand on my shoulder. "I wish she'd open her heart to you, Vincent: You are a good man." Maybe I only imagined the way her eyes warmed.  
  
  
  
She let me go and went dowstairs. I stepped back into my room and shut the door behind me, my legs numb.  
  
I sank down on the bed, my head bent. I shivered with the realization of it all. Suddenly the earth seemed very cold, colder even than the dark side of Saturn.  
  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
  
Earlier, I'd figured that swim I'd had would help me sleep, but I guessed wrong. Later that night, I got up to answer a call of nature, more a distraction because I kept turning over on the bed, unable to find a comfortable position. As I headed back upstairs, I passed by the sun room -- now the moon room. I tiptoed to the open door and peered in, careful not to let myself be seen.  
  
Rose scented candles in jars burned on an endtable, the light falling over the glider. Minerva lay draped over one arm, face down, arms under her chin, Eugene on top of her, kising the back of her neck. He turned her over, running his lips down past her shoulder, lowering his face into her lap. She yelped out loud and giggled, slapping him playfully but loudly.  
  
  
  
"Here, I've passed the masochism phase," Eugene objected, voice husky with ardor.  
  
  
  
I slid back into the shadows and retreated to my room. If I had wanted Irene during the three years I spent in space, that wanting gnawed at me far deeper now.  
  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
Next morning I was almost too sore to move, so I stayed put. While Minerva and Eugene were out for the day, I started looking for Irene's address and phone number. First I checked the most logical place, the phone listings, but I couldn't find it there. I called directory assistence, but they couldn't give me any leads either. Most people would have taken this as a sign that I should just give up and move on to something else. But I was not going to leave that matter unresolved. I wanted to see my child.  
  
Besides, giving up in the face of adversity wasn't exactly in my blood.  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
  
"Here, stop watching me and my woman!" Eugene called to me as I emerged from the washroom next morning. He stood outside the door, clearly waiting to get in.  
  
  
  
"I was about to ask you when do you two ever stop; you'll get her pregnant again," I jabbed back.  
  
  
  
"Not with her ecologically nursing Vinzel," he said. "So, any luck finding out about your lost love?"  
  
That question hardly surprised me, unless he asked it out of sheer curiosity. "Minerva told you about it?"  
  
He smirked wisely. "It's a little hard for her to withold information from me: I have my ways of coercion."  
  
  
  
He got me where I couldn't back out. "I checked the phone book," I said. "Irene's number isn't listed. I even called directory assistance: they couldn't tell me, either. What about your friend Eckart the hacker or whatever he was?"  
  
He rolled his eyes slightly, as if he wanted to be spared the memory of that odd little creep. "I'm afraid he can't help you either," he said. "He's currently residing for the next ten years in a place where fellows like him can't even get to a palm top. He got himself arrested on break in and entry."  
  
  
  
"Dammit," I muttered.  
  
  
  
"Minerva knows another chap who might help you: Halloran something or something Halloran. I don't know him well, since he was only a client of Minerva's, but I hear he's got a knack of breaking into data storage systems. She had to transfer him to a male psychologist since, well, let's say this Halloran wanted a little more...action on her couch. He could help you, but I don't encourage it."  
  
"Why?"  
  
  
  
He looked me in the eye. "One reason: this guy hits on anything that moves, including his own kind. The little bugger made a pass at me once -- in front of Minerva. And another reason: I don't want to see you get caught. If someone from Gattaca found out you'd been associating with her, there might be hell to pay."  
  
"I just want to see my child."  
  
He started into the wash room, but he pasued and looked over his shoulder at me. "Take my advice: keep your distance from her if you don't want to end up like Eckart."  
  
I laid low that day. I gave Minerva and Eugene a line that I was still sore all over from over-extending myself, and I thought I'd take it easy that day, reaquainting myself with the world. I don't know how well I fooled them but I had an odd feeling that Minerva had divined my intent. Why she didn't say something or try to stop me, I couldn't tell.  
  
  
  
Once they were gone, I consulted the antique rolodex on the desk in the study-computer room, looking for anything with the name Halloran.  
  
  
  
At length, I found a card under the M's: McGeever, Halloran, followed by a phone number and an address. I copied them down and went out.  
  
  
  
McGeever lived in a housing complex on the north side of the city, not far from where I had once lived, before German introduced me to Eugene, what was often called the InValids' quarter.  
  
  
  
I took a bus uptown and hunted up and down the dark, narrow streets, looking for the complex ironically named Pleasant Acres.  
  
  
  
The complex proved to be an ugly grey cement block structure with tiny slits of windows, more like a prison than anything else. I went in and found the right wing: Sector A Unit 24.  
  
  
  
The carpet in the hallway had probably not been cleaned since they laid it and the air stank of cigarette smoke, diapers, boiled cabbage and God only knew what. A staticky TV crackled at full blast behind one door, while behind others, couples argued and a baby squalled.  
  
  
  
As I came up to Unit 24, the door flew open and a scantily clad girl in her late teens, clearly a prostitute, stalked out. I looked away, hoping she didn't try to catch my attention: I turned up my nose, pretended to be a disgusted Valid.  
  
  
  
Once she had passed by, I knocked at the door.  
  
  
  
"I told you to get yer a-- outta here!" a man's raspy voice snarled behind the door.  
  
  
  
"Are you Halloran McGeever?" I asked.  
  
  
  
"I might be," the voice replied, suspicious. "Who 're you?"  
  
  
  
"I'm a friend of Minerva Koestelbaum," I said. "My name's Vincent Freeman."  
  
  
  
The door opened and a dwarf of a man, barely five feet tall, clad in a sleeveless undershirt and black trousers clumsily buttoned, stood there, glaring up at me.  
  
  
  
"Whadda y' want?" he snarled, baring two rows of the most yellowed, splintered teeth I'd ever seen.  
  
  
  
"I need information," I said. In a flattering tone, I added, "I heard from Minerva's husband you're able to extract information from any database anywhere, that there's no security system you can't get around."  
  
  
  
His mouth had relazed, but he lifted one corner of his mouth in a crooked, feral grin. He stepped back, letting me enter. "Whadda y' need?"  
  
  
  
"I just need an address and telephone number of a woman: Irene Cassini."  
  
  
  
He glanced at the still open door, as if telling me to get out. "So? Check the phone directory. 'At's what it's there for."  
  
  
  
"I tried: It's unlisted. I think she works at Gattaca."  
  
"Okay, this gets in-ter-est-ing," he drawled, crossing the one room, part living room, part bedroom, pacing to a sprawl of computer equipment spread out on several tables against one wall: towers, monitors, keyboards, external modems and drives. "How much is this worth to you?"  
  
  
  
"I've only got twenty," I said. "But it means more to me than life itself." I knew those words sounded lame as soon as I said them, but I was too desperate to care.  
  
  
  
He regarded me sidewise over his shoulder as he sat down on a stool in the middle of the sprawl. "Eh, one of those bleeding heart lost loves, is it? Well, all right. Since you got referred to me by an old friend, that means you qualify for the old friends discount." He held out his hand, palm up. I took out my wallet, extracted my last twenty and put it into his hand. His small fingers snapped shut on it, and on one of my fingers. He released me and stuffed the bill into his trouser pocket, then turned to the sprawl.  
  
  
  
He set to work, typing commands, his thin fingers flying. Numbers and letter scrolled across the screen. After several long minutes of this, he paused, then typed another command.  
  
  
  
A printer chirped and ground somewhere in the snarl. He got up and reached for an ancient dot matrix minus its plastic housing, on a table next to the desk, and tore off a sheet of paper, which he handed to me.   
  
  
  
CASSINI, Irene.....46 Darwin Terrace  
  
  
  
"Thanks," I said.  
  
  
  
He regarded me with his head on one side, his eyes narrowed. "Now tell me this: What the he-- is a nice, good-looking, young Valid kid like you doin' here, asking a card-carrying InValid cyber-criminal for a girl's address? I'd think you'd be smart enough to find it out for yerself."  
  
  
  
"It's not my area of expertise," I said. "I'm only an astronomer."  
  
  
  
"I see," he said, his eyelids lowering in a way I did not like.  
  
  
  
He knew. Takes one to spot one.  
  
  
  
I got out of there quickly, but not so quickly that I would arouse his suspicions any more, but I could tell he knew we, he and I, were more alike than looks could tell you.  
  
  
  
I put distance between myself and that asphyxiating place with its wierd inhabitant. Half of me wanted to go straight to Irene's condo, down by the shore, knock on her door, find out what had happened; but the other more sensible half obliged it to go back home where I could think better.  
  
* * * * *   
  
  
  
"So how'd you keep out of trouble?" Eugene asked me over supper that night.  
  
  
  
"I went for a long walk," I said. Not a lie.  
  
  
  
Minerva looked up from her plate, fixing me with a curious, but almost oracular look. "Where did you go?" she asked.  
  
  
  
I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "Just around my old neighborhood, just to see how things had changed since I left it. A few buildings were torn down, others stuck in their place. Family of five living in my old apartment."  
  
  
  
"Anyone recognize you?" Eugene asked.  
  
  
  
"Nah, most of my old neighbors have moved away or died; the rest clearly didn't know me," I said. "This one woman yelled at me something like what was a Valid like me doing in that part of town. A few housewives telling me to go find another slum to find a girlfriend."  
  
"To be perfectly honest, and I say this as a physician: When you're not wearing your glasses, it would take a very trained eye to know if you were Valid or not, just by looking at you," Minerva said, with a knowing look in her eye.  
  
  
  
"Here, keep your eyes to yourself," Eugene snipped at his wife.  
  
  
  
She twitched like he'd poked her under the table, and pretended to cringe. "Sorry," she replied in a mock nervous tone.  
  
  
  
That at least dispelled the tension.  
  
  
  
* * * * *  
  
  
  
Later that evening, I sat in my room, setting up a new e-mail account via a laptop Minerva had loaned me. Someone knocked at the door.  
  
  
  
"It's open," I said.  
  
  
  
The door opened and Eugene entered, pushing the door shut behind him. "You weren't completely truthful with us about your whereabouts today," he said, pointblank, facing me, his back to the door.  
  
  
  
"All right: I wasn't," I admitted, looking away. His blue-green eyes had taken on a look I couldn't meet. I turned back to the computer screen  
  
  
  
"You went looking for Irene," I heard him say.   
  
I might have nodded in reply, but I tried to control it, keep from betraying myself.  
  
  
  
"I take that sonorous silence to mean, 'Yes'."  
  
"I haven't gone to see her," I said. "I just called on Minerva's friend Halloran McGeever, see if he could find her phone number and address."  
  
  
  
"Vincent, I don't want to see you get yourself caught," Eugene said. "I covered for you for two years. I don't want that work to all go to rot."  
  
  
  
"I won't let that happen," I said. "I just want to see my child."  
  
  
  
He took the back of my chair and pulled it around, turning me to face him.  
  
  
  
"You might be weaving the rope to hang yourself," he warned. "She might consider that stalking, and if they pick you up on those charges, they're liable to find out what else you've been up."  
  
  
  
I shrugged. "I'll take all the necessary precautions."  
  
  
  
He regarded me in silence. Letting out a harrassed sigh through his nostrils, he let go the back of my chair. "I can't tell you what to do and what not to do. But don't expect to borrow my genetics ever again."  
  
  
  
I gave him a smile I hoped would disarm him. "You won't have to go through that indignity ever again: Minerva might resent it."  
  
  
  
One corner of his mouth twitched for a second, as if he might smile, but his face relaxed, his eyes retaining that inexorable look. He stood up and headed for the door. He paused, his hand on the jamb.  
  
I heard a humorless sniff of a laugh escape his lungs. "That's one thing we never thought of."  
  
"What?" I asked, not looking up from the computer.  
  
"Semen sample," he said.  
  
"That would be hard to pull off, unless we did it the new natural way."  
  
"And why, with your background, would you want to do a hideous thing like that?"  
  
I glanced up. "I don't think Minerva would want to share you with another woman. Legally, it would be your child, too." Then I added, "Just as Irene's child is also mine."  
  
"Quite right," he admitted. I heard him step out of the room into the hallway and shut the door slowly behind him.  
  
  
  
An unseen cloud had gathered in the room, but I turned my back on it.  
  
  
  
  
  
To be continued... 


End file.
